


Moonlight on a Faded T-Shirt

by vakarians_girl



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, literally just fluff and tension, two demi bi babies just trying not to fall head over heels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:47:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27455965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vakarians_girl/pseuds/vakarians_girl
Summary: It's weird, having Unit Bravo in her apartment, and Niamh can't sleep.
Relationships: Detective/A du Mortain, Female Detective/Adam du Mortain, Niamh O'Driscoll/Adam du Mortain
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Moonlight on a Faded T-Shirt

Sleeping with the entirety of Unit Bravo in her apartment was…difficult. Niamh hadn’t heard them make a sound, and the lights were all off outside her door, so it wasn’t exactly clear what they were doing. She thought she had heard her door shut softly a while ago—maybe one of them was patrolling outside; it was unclear. But even so, that meant there were three vampires just chilling in her living room. Or her kitchen. Or somewhere.

And one of them was Adam. It made her heart race, though she knew that was ridiculous, for so many reasons. First, and perhaps most importantly, he was a literal Renaissance statue. And she? Was five feet and one inch of mousey brown hair, indistinct features, and a constantly frazzled expression, all built like a twelve-year-old. Second, he seemed to hate working with her. Or, she could never really tell where he stood. The talking down to her, almost ignoring her, when she was in charge on this project—but then there were also the times he hadn’t ignored her, when he had looked at her with respect, asked her about her job, her stories, and she thought they might actually be worse. Because if he wasn’t ignoring her, then he was looking at her, and he could surely tell the way her skin went blotchy with blush whenever she felt his eyes on her.

Niamh groaned and rubbed her eyes. Water. A glass of water would help her calm down. Clumsily, she fumbled for her glasses on the nightstand, careful not to stab herself with them as she shoved them on, and grabbed the empty glass beside them before heading to her door.

***

Nate had gone outside a few hours ago, and with Farah and Morgan stealing fruit from the reporter's—Niamh’s—fridge, Adam was alone in the living room. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting from Niamh’s home, or why he hadn’t been expecting exactly what it was, but it fit her precisely. Shelves filled with books and plants, heavy knitted and woolen blankets thrown over comfortably used furniture—some of which was clearly lovingly cared for and antique—lots of shades of green and blue and brown, and countless photos of the Irish coast paired with Celtic knot motifs hung on the walls. It was quaint and cozy, and he could see everything clearly in the dark, illuminated so strongly as it was for him by the moonlight streaming in from the large picture window by the bookshelf.

Adam was desperately trying to shove down just how much this apartment made him feel like he knew the detective. He was trying to ignore the way the whole space smelled like her—like rich Earl Grey and lavender—and patently failing. Every time he shifted, the couch enveloped him in another wave of it, and it conjured up images of bark brown eyes, dappled with light like the freckles on her cheeks, and soft brown hair that brushed the shoulders of her trench coat. He rubbed his temples and frowned. This wasn’t working. He stood and walked over to her bookshelf, hoping to find something—anything—that could distract him. Next to a small pot of flowering ivy, he saw a row of the same book, all different translations of Beowulf, and he groaned inwardly.

Of course she had to have an entire shelf of Beowulf translations. _Of course._ She had told him, after all, that she loved Beowulf. He was about to pull one off at random when he heard creaking coming from Niamh’s room, and he stiffened. Surely Nate was keeping his eye on the windows? Nothing could have gotten in, could it? He turned silently toward the door, staring intently at it, tensed to leap across the small space at the merest indication Niamh was about to come to harm—

The door swung open and Niamh, bleary eyed and without noticing Adam in the dark, walked out and down the corner to her bathroom, empty glass in hand. But that wasn’t what had Adam’s heart in his throat and heat racing across his chest and his face. Niamh seemed to only wear an oversized t-shirt and socks to bed, and Adam could see the bottom edge of her light blue underwear as she turned. The way the loose neck of the shirt fell wide across her collarbone and down her shoulder made his mouth dry; he could see the delicate structure of her neck and the spattering of freckles and moles across her collarbone, illuminated by the faint light from the window. Her feet padded softly on the dark wood floor, and Adam stood stock still as he heard her shut the bathroom door and turn on the faucet.

Breathing shallowly, Adam clenched his fists and then flexed his fingers out, willing the memory of her body, burned into his eyes, to fade away. Farah chuckled at something Morgan had said, voice floating from the kitchen, and then immediately stifled the laugh, but Adam knew she wasn’t planning on coming back to the dark living room any time soon. He had almost calmed his heartbeat when he heard the bathroom door open, and Niamh walked back. But this time she saw him.

Niamh jumped slightly, and water sloshed out of her glass and onto the floor, droplets smacking loudly in the silence, her mouth formed into a perfect ‘O’ of surprise. Adam flinched in response, eyes wider than he would have liked them to be, and looked away quickly.

“I am sorry, O'Driscoll, I thought I heard something.” He chanced a glance back at her to see her blushing bright pink, tugging at the hem of her shirt and pulling it down further in an attempt to cover more over her small legs in a way that also pulled it taut against her torso. Adam could see the small curves of her chest and her stomach beneath the bunching fabric, and looked away again, heart thudding in his ears.

“N-no, that’s ok, it was so quiet I thought—I mean obviously you guys can be pretty quiet when you want to be a-and that’s my bad, I-I mean my fault, I should have guessed you were still here…” Her anxiety rising, Adam could hear her faint Irish brogue growing stronger and stronger in each word, lilting and soft, and he bit the inside of his cheek.

“It’s perfectly all right.”

“I’m so sorry, Adam.” Humiliation tinged her voice rather than just embarrassment, and it made Adam’s head snap right back to hers, catching her eyes from across the room. She looked about ready to cry, knees knocking together slightly, biting hard on her bottom lip. It sent a spike of energy through Adam’s stomach, one he couldn’t quite place, and without his being entirely aware of it, he took a few steps forward, and then a few more, until he was right in front of her.

“Miss O'Driscoll,” he said softly. She looked away. “Niamh.” The slight force in his voice made her start again and look back up at him, eyes wide. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” The surface of his skin crackled from being so close to her, hair standing on edge. He was so close—what if he simply reached out and placed a hand on her arm, or even her waist—they leaned in closer for a moment, Adam’s eyes flicking to each and every part of the detective he could see, and he knew she had caught his glances, and he knew he should stop—

A loud smack echoed from the kitchen, something falling from the fridge onto the floor.

“Whoops!” Farah’s exclamation broke the silence, broke the tension, and Adam turned, briefly, to see what might be happening beyond the small doorway, but when he turned back, Niamh was gone, her door closed. He thought he could hear the thudding of her heartbeat on the other side, fluttering and loud with excitement.

Beowulf suddenly seemed like a completely inadequate distraction, but that didn’t stop Adam from yanking one book at random off the shelf and dropping into the couch that smelled of her, staring at the pages without quite seeing them.


End file.
